Keep On Stepping
by BiblioMatsuri
Summary: Life is one setback after another, problems piling up on top of problems until you could drown in them. Danny knows better than most that sometimes, all anyone can do is keep going and hope for the best. Eventually, it'll all be worth it. A series of snapshots. DxS. So far, rated for gore and language.


Disclaimer: I don't own DP.

BGM: "All I Need" by Within Temptation

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"To complete the hardest journey we need take only one step at a time, but we must keep on stepping." - Chinese proverb.

Setback #1: Confession

I run to him, too angry to scream at him for going and getting hurt again. Besides, the last thing I need is to draw unwanted attention right now.

Behind me, the battle continues, the sizzle-flash of energy beams leaving scorch marks on what used to be an okay residential street. Not great, not cookie-cutter-suburban-creepy, just okay. A lot like Danny and Tucker's neighborhood, really.

Less than two feet away, Danny is curling in on himself, just a tiny bit, and that scares me more than the blood trail and lack of supposedly witty insults put together. Danny has gotten really good at hiding physical pain over the last few years. He could probably get stabbed in the gut and not give it away as long as no one saw the blood – meaning that this is a lot worse than just a simple stab wound. (And dear G-d, when did my life get so fucked up that the phrase "simple stab wound" actually makes sense to me?)

I slow down, moving as carefully as I can without slowing to a stop, because I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I'm strong enough to be around Danny when he's this weak. Then I clench my fists so hard I'm sure I just cut my palms, but it doesn't matter, because I cannot let him down again. I can't just stand here and let him die again.

I drop to one knee beside him, and ever-so-softly brush against his arm. His eyes shoot open, wide and staring, glaring green. His face far too pale under a mop of black hair matted with something I hope isn't his blood, his jaw clenched so hard my teeth ache, and I can just see his pulse jumping in too-visible blue veins. I'm amazed he isn't screaming, and then his mouth opens.

"…What?"

"I love you," he says again, smiling.

I look at him, holding his guts in with one hand, and now I don't know who I'm angry at anymore.

Then I remember we're on a battlefield, and that Danny is our best fighter, and our strongest weapon, and that there isn't time for this sappy bullcrap. "You are not going to die here, Danny."

He makes a weak wet noise that I think might have been a sarcastic laugh. "Little too late, don't you think?"

"Shut up."

"Well, it is…" he shoots back in that infuriatingly reasonable tone he does so well and suddenly I'm smirking back as I dig through the tiny first aid kit Jazz makes all of us take to patrol every night.

"Let me see the wound."

"Yes, ma'am." His arm shimmers out of visibility under the short sleeve, and I can see through to the injury.

"Oh, shit."

He manages a grimace, and I can't tell if it was on purpose or not. "That good?"

I want to glare at him, but all I can think of is that punctured intestines are not covered in a basic first aid course, and that I'm pretty sure his liver is supposed to be all one piece, and then I'm stumbling away because I am _not_ going to throw up on him.

Once I've gotten my stomach settled enough that I can move under my own power again, I get up and the first thing I see is Danny looking at me, worried about me. Worried about _me_ when all I've got is a bad case of chicken and he could die.

"You are not going to die here!" I hiss, remembering at the last second not to scream because Desiree is so damn close by and so much stronger than she was last time. Who knows whether or not she needs the exact words to use magic now? I don't know, and I don't want to find out, and g-d-freaking-damn-it, I do not have time to freak out right now!

Stuffing the first aid kit back into the bag, I shoot Danny that glare I owed him from a few minutes ago .I'm wasting time, wasting minutes, minutes that could make all the difference. "Can you transform?"

"What?" he says, confused. Then his eyes light up with understanding. "No. That was the first thing I tried. I'm really starting to hate the new minions."

"Figures that today of all days, she'd show up with minions."

"And even better, they're competent minions…" he trails off, understanding replaced with anger and revulsion. "I now officially hate the cheese-head."

"Vlad?" I stage-whisper back. "You think he-"

"Hired them out? No," Danny said sullenly, drawing himself up. I froze, not knowing whether to hold him still or run for help or I don't even know what, but he just kept talking in that casually curious way he reserves for settling an argument or explaining a crucial point.

"Desiree has an even bigger prideful streak – is prideful even a word? – than Vlad does. Do I think he somehow arranged this?" At this, he shoots me a cold smirk, and his tone turns sharp and acidic to match. "Of course."

I stifle my first response, which is to scream and yell and curse the air blue, and _strangle_ my second response, which is to blow his mansion's security apart, walk right in there and stab him with a giant freaking scimitar and see how he likes it! Then I dig frantically through my bag, looking for something, anything that could help.

"Danny."

"Yeah?" he breathes.

"Why can't you transform? Is it something Desiree did?"

"Don't think so. She wasn't gloating about it, and you know she'd gloat if she knew she'd managed to cripple me."

That did sound like her. "Is it the-" I can't say it, so I free one hand to wave at his midsection. "_That_, then?"

"Are you kidding?" he whispers incredulously. "In ghost form, I could fix this without even thinking about it! No, it's not the problem."

I stop myself from pointing out that it really is the problem. Argue later. "Lack of energy?"

He clams up, and that's all I need to hear.

"For crying out loud, Danny!" I bark, exasperated, angry and more relieved than I thought I could feel.

He just looks at me, too exhausted to even pretend at his patented sheepish "oops" smile.

I stop digging around and hold out my hand.

He looks at it, then at me, helplessly.

I just narrow my eyes and tell him, "Take it. Now, Danny."

He goes slack from one shock too many, back hitting the ground with a thump, his mouth opening in a silent scream of pain.

"No," he chokes out.

I just listen to the sound of my heartbeat in my ears, too loud and too close. I shuffle closer, realizing I must have dropped my bag at one point. When I reach him, I drop to my knees and let the tears fall. I know exactly what that will do to him, when he's this close to death.

Sure enough, suddenly a bony hand is gripping my shoulder. For the hundredth time, I'm surprised by how fast and strong Danny is when he isn't paying enough attention to hold back.

And then, I don't feel much of anything but strangely tired.

I'm sleepy. It's so warm…

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A/N: Another. Bleeping. WIP. Matsuri commitment FAIL. ...Well, I needed a sappy romance outlet. (And barring further muse commitment fail, this story will get there.)

Please read and review.


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